The math teacher was on a roll at the podium, chalk tapping rhythmically against the blackboard as he went over that damn practice test.
I propped my heavy head up with one hand, idly twirling a pen with the other.
A single glance at those problems was enough to know the answers. There was no need to listen.
Beside me, Liu Hao was scratching his head in frustration, his test paper covered in red crosses. He leaned over with a pained expression, whispering under his breath, "Fuck, what the hell is all this? Lin An, how did you do it?"
I couldn't even be bothered to lift my eyelids. My mind felt like a tangled mess, and I was utterly irritated.
"Just guessed," I muttered back, spinning the pen faster.
"Bullshit! You scored over 130 by guessing? I barely scraped past 50, damn it!" Liu Hao nudged me with his elbow.
"You don't get it," I shot him a sidelong glance, my tone sharp.
He really didn't.
He didn't understand that my dad's face would soon appear at home, or what that meant.
It meant that my mom and I… those secret, heart-pounding, feverish "good times" were about to be cut short.
Just thinking about it made my chest tighten, and I couldn't help but let out another heavy sigh.
The dismissal bell rang like a death knell.
No matter how much I didn't want to face it, I had to steel myself and head home.
Pushing open the door, the familiar aroma of home-cooked food mixed with the scent of cooking oil wafted over.
The clatter of a spatula came from the kitchen.
My dad's familiar voice echoed from the balcony—no doubt arguing about work on the phone again.
I tossed my backpack aside and slipped into the kitchen like a cat on the prowl.
My mom, Su Yuqing, stood with her back to me, wearing that light blue apron that cinched her slender waist. The two plump curves of her rear, hugged tightly by her fitted skirt, swayed slightly with each chop of the knife, making my throat go dry.
I suddenly wrapped my arms around her from behind, my hands gripping her soft waist, burying my face in her fragrant hair and nuzzling against her smooth neck.
"Ah!"
She jumped in fright, nearly dropping the knife in her hand. Turning her head, her beautiful eyes held a mix of shock and a hint of barely concealed panic. "You little devil! You scared me half to death!"
She kept her voice low, afraid my dad on the balcony might hear.
I greedily inhaled the scent of her neck—that mature, womanly fragrance mixed with a faint hint of sweat—and instantly, the thing between my legs hardened, pressing uncomfortably against my pants.
I whined sourly in her ear, "Mom, Dad's back!"
Her body stiffened for a moment, but she didn't turn around, continuing to chop the vegetables on the cutting board, though her movements noticeably slowed.
"He's back, so what?" Her voice sounded distant, lacking its usual strength.
"Mom," I persisted, nuzzling restlessly against her neck like a child throwing a tantrum, though my intentions were anything but childish. "Can you not… do it with Dad?"
My hands grew restless, sliding down her soft waist and, through the thin fabric of her dress, landing squarely on her full, fleshy rear. I gave it a firm squeeze—the sensation was both springy and soft.
"Don't talk nonsense!" Her voice dropped even lower, tinged with annoyance as she tried to squirm away from my hands. "He's your dad, and my husband, An'an!"
"I don't care!"
I played the rogue, not only not letting go but squeezing the soft flesh of her buttocks even harder, feeling the astonishing elasticity and fullness. "I won't allow it! Mom, please?"
I deliberately made my voice soft and sticky, knowing she couldn't resist it.
Her body tensed, and she completely stopped chopping vegetables. Her slender legs, clad in thin silk stockings, instinctively tightened.
"Alright, alright..." she said, as if terrified of being discovered by anyone outside, her voice tinged with urgency and compromise. "Stop bothering Mom, okay? I promise! Now take your hand away!"
She twisted her waist, trying to escape my grasp.
Hearing her agree, the heavy stone in my heart dropped with a thud, and a surge of wild joy washed over me.
But my hand had no intention of obeying.
"It's fine, Mom!"
I pressed close to her ear, my hot breath brushing against her sensitive earlobe. "Dad's on the balcony making a call."
My courage instantly swelled. My right hand slid under the hem of her tight skirt like a slippery snake, plunging inside!
My fingertips immediately touched the thin, body-warmed silk stockings, and further down, I felt the panties covering her intimate area.
Without hesitation, my entire palm pressed down heavily over the silk stockings and panties, right against the softest, warmest, and most tender hollow between her legs—her honeyed core.
"Mmm~"
An uncontrollable, delicate, and seductive moan instantly escaped her throat, carrying a damp, breathy quality.
Her entire body trembled violently, as if struck by an electric current. Her legs tightened even more, almost making her lose her balance. The knife in her hand clattered softly as she set it down on the cutting board.
She had no choice but to stop all movement, leaning slightly forward against the cold stove, enduring the pressure of my palm.
Even through the two layers of fabric, I could feel the astonishing heat and slight swelling of that place.
Excitement made my fingers tremble as I began using my fingertips to rub, press, and knead the plump, soft flesh through her panties.
The fabric quickly grew damp from the moisture seeping out, becoming slick and clinging tightly to the contours of her labia.
I could imagine the two plump, fleshy lips inside, surely swollen and flushed from my touch.
"Don't... An'an... stop..."
Her voice trembled violently, carrying a sob and an indescribable allure. Her body squirmed slightly in my embrace, less like a struggle and more like an invitation.
The more she reacted this way, the more painfully swollen my throbbing member grew below, aching to tear away the obstructive fabric and plunge my fingers—or even my entire length—into her wet, heated core.
Just as my fingers grew restless, eager to push further and slip beneath the edge of her panties—
"An'an, you're back?"
My father's rough voice suddenly echoed from the kitchen doorway, completely unexpected!
Both my mother and I jolted violently at the same time!
As if caught in the act!
"Ah!"
My mother let out a short, startled cry, her body shrinking back abruptly. I could clearly feel the honeyed core beneath my palm contract violently in that instant, releasing a surge of scalding, abundant fluid.
It instantly soaked through her panties and silk stockings, and even through the fabric, my fingers felt a distinct, damp heat.
I jerked my hand out from under her skirt as if scalded, my heart pounding so violently it felt ready to leap from my throat.
"Ah... Dad! I'm helping Mom in the kitchen!"
I quickly turned around, forcing a stiff smile onto my face, trying to keep my voice steady.
My father's tall figure already filled the kitchen doorway. He leaned in, a weary but cheerful smile on his face, his eyes scanning the vegetables on the cutting board, completely oblivious to the strange tension and proximity between his wife and son.
"Oh, An'an's really grown up now, helping out!"
He said cheerfully, taking a few steps inside, instantly making the kitchen feel cramped.
He reached directly into the plate, picked up a freshly stir-fried slice of meat, unbothered by the heat, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing loudly. "Sss-hahaha~ so hot! So delicious! I've been craving your mom's cooking the whole time I was away!"
My mother, her back still turned to us, shoulders trembling slightly, quickly put down the kitchen knife and turned around. Her face was still flushed, her eyes evasive, as she practically shoved both of us out of the kitchen. "Out, out! Both of you, get out! Don't just stand here making a mess! The fumes are strong!"
Her voice carried a barely noticeable hint of panic and forced composure.
"Bang!"
She slammed the kitchen door shut from inside, cutting off everything within.
My dad and I were left standing in the living room, staring at each other blankly. He shrugged, looking utterly confused, and wiped the grease from his mouth. "Your mom's a bit irritable today, huh?"
Then he walked over to the sofa on his own, picked up the remote, and turned on the TV.
I forced a stiff smile, said nothing, the mix of frustration and disappointment burning inside me, making my entire body ache.
The whole evening, my dad was either watching TV in the living room or making calls in the study. My mother stayed busy between the kitchen and the living room, deliberately avoiding eye contact with me.
Even when we all went to our respective rooms to sleep, that tightly shut bedroom door completely separated me from her. I couldn't find even a single minute to be alone with her.
Lying in bed, tossing and turning, my mind was filled with the memory of her in the kitchen—the soft, seductive "Mmm~ah~" when I pressed against her wetness, and the sensation of my palm against that soaked, burning heat beneath her skirt.
The thing between my legs throbbed painfully, but I could only hold it in, so agitated I wanted to punch the wall.
...
The past two weeks felt like a lamp without oil.
In the mornings, I'd carry my backpack while nibbling on a steamed bun, staring blankly at "Trigonometric Functions" written on the blackboard during class. My pen tip had pierced through three sheets of scratch paper, my mind completely occupied with thoughts of Mom.
Last night, I listened for half an hour.
Dad's snoring sounded like a construction drill, and Mom's restless tossing made the bed creak.
After school today, I threw my backpack onto the sofa and sat sullenly at the dining table.
Mom came out carrying a bowl of tomato and egg soup. Seeing me like this, she set the bowl down and pressed the back of her hand against my forehead. "An'an, what's wrong? You look so pale."
I grabbed her wrist, my voice hoarse. "Mom, it's been two weeks. I'm so uncomfortable... Don't you want it too?"
Her face flushed crimson all the way to the tips of her ears. She pursed her lips, turning her face away, her fingers nervously twisting the bow on her apron. "Don't... don't talk nonsense... Dad's home, Mom..."
I knew Mom wanted it too.
Mom noticed I was still hanging my head low, and she suddenly softened, poking my forehead with her fingertip: "Alright, An'an, don't be so upset. This weekend... Mom has a surprise for you!"
I quickly grabbed her hand: "What surprise? Can't you tell me now?"
She blinked, turning to walk toward the kitchen. The hem of her pale pink dress swayed gently, and the cinched waist design hugged her waist like a willow branch: "I said it's a surprise, what's the rush? I'm making your favorite braised pork tonight. Go wash your hands."
I stared at her retreating figure.
As she bent over to fetch a bowl, the curve of her hips stretched the fabric of her dress, making it bulge like a ripe peach.
I quickly lowered my head and rubbed my nose.
It's only Tuesday today!
Three more days to go!
Sitting at the dining table, I picked up a piece of braised pork but accidentally bit my tongue.
It hurt, but not as much as the itch in my heart.
When Mom ladled soup, the collar of her dress revealed a glimpse of the white strap of her bra. I hurriedly lifted my bowl to drink the soup. It was too hot, scalding my tongue numb, yet it reminded me of last week when she pressed her chest against my arm—soft as cotton.
Lying in bed at night, I touched my burning lower body, listening to Mom's coughing from the next room.
I stared at the crack on the ceiling, counting, "One day, two days, three days."
Would the "performance" Mom mentioned involve wearing that silk nightgown?
The one she hid at the very back of the closet last week—black, with a low-cut neckline that revealed a hint of cleavage...
I bit my pillow. Why isn't the weekend here yet?
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